


Untroubled Sentries of the Shadow'y Night

by Chamelaucium



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamelaucium/pseuds/Chamelaucium
Summary: At Beorn's, Thorin goes missing. Bilbo finds him.





	Untroubled Sentries of the Shadow'y Night

**Author's Note:**

> Title from James Montgomery.
> 
> Here is the fluff I promised! Well-earned after the angstfest that was Blood From Stone ;) I hope you enjoyǃ

Dusk begins to settle over Beorn’s lands like a worn cloak, comforting and warm; not like the dark, dangerous nights they’ve known on the road. Here there is no chance of encountering a pack of orcs; there are no night terrors that can enter these lands without Beorn knowing. The knowledge lets Bilbo breathe easily for the first time since they left Rivendell, for once not fearful of the darkness beyond the glow of their little campfire.

He’s so used to being on the alert that it takes him longer than the others to relax. While they take full advantage of Beorn’s hospitality, gorging on fresh cream and bread and honey, Bilbo wanders around Beorn’s enormous house. Occasionally a mouse will appear and scare him half out of his skin, or one of the huge dogs - as tall as he is - will pad over on silent paws, carrying a plate of bread and honey, and he will accept it nervously. It’s uncanny, these dogs moving about like humans, and he is sure to give a proper little bow of thanks as he accepts the food.

It’s his restlessness that first alerts him to the fact one of their number is missing and for a moment his pulse pounds thick and fast and his stomach seems to drop out from beneath him, because so far, it’s only ever meant something bad when someone is missing - when Gandalf was gone they got attacked by trolls; when Bilbo left the dwarves for a _moment_ they ended up being taken prisoner by goblins. He feels an additional little thrill of worry in his veins when he realises it’s _Thorin_ who’s missing. None of the others seem to have noticed, which he tells himself is because there’s nothing to worry about; but he remembers how recklessly Thorin ran out to meet Azog with hatred burning in his eyes, how he didn’t even seem to stop and _think_ if that was a good idea or not -

Bilbo has grown a deep respect for the dwarf king, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think he's been an absolute fool sometimes. It makes him smile to think of Thorin, however; that hug on the Carrock had left him pink-faced for hours, not helped by the fact he caught Thorin shooting him little glances, more often than not looking confused, though he’d always look away when he noticed Bilbo watching. And only last night, as they all sat huddled in Beorn’s hayloft, Thorin had offered Bilbo his own pipe when he’d noticed Bilbo mourning his empty tobacco pouch and wistfully watching him puffing away. He hadn’t said much, but it had felt comfortable - and for the first time in a long while, Bilbo had felt at ease in his presence. He’s been such a disappointment to Thorin thus far, he knows - he’s a hobbit, untrained in the art of battle and he’s never stolen a thing in his life - and he’d felt hopeful that perhaps this was the beginning of a much better working relationship. The last time Thorin had confided anything in him was in Rivendell, when he’d spoken of his childhood in the mountain, and Bilbo had been so afraid of him he’d hardly said a word.

But now Thorin is missing and Bilbo dithers for a moment on what to do - he’s loath to break up the party just in case Thorin isn’t really missing at all, but the strange fluttering in his heart tells him to be wary. He slips past the carousing dwarves and steps outside into the dusk, the world muted around him. He has to squint to see things, his hobbit-eyes not so adapted for low light as the dwarves’, but then a wave of relief floods over him as he recognises the familiar figure at the bottom of the field. There’s just light enough to recognise the furs on those broad shoulders, the glint of the metal of the sword at his side.

Bilbo’s heart returning to normal, he begins to pick his way down towards the dwarf. Flowers as big as his hand sway up out of the long grass, the air heavy with their pollen, and the last of the huge bees are drifting lazily up out of the foliage, headed to wherever it is they go to sleep. Thorin is standing right at the edge of the field, and as he draws closer Bilbo can see the darker mass of a grove just beyond. He smiles as he sees Thorin’s proud bearing; even after being injured, he stands tall and straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He doesn’t hear Bilbo approaching so whatever he’s looking at must have captured his attention absolutely - out of all the dwarves, Thorin seems to have the keenest hearing and more than once Bilbo has been pierced by a sharp gaze from Thorin on watch as he moved closer to the fire at night. But Thorin doesn’t even twitch and Bilbo is only a few feet away when he realises what has Thorin so absorbed, and his breath is snatched away by the evening breeze.

In the next field, hundreds of fireflies are hovering, flashing, floating about; bright yellow pinpricks against the now darkness of night. He can hear the sound of running water nearby and the croaking of insects, and the faint hum of the fireflies. They’re a thousand tiny lights darting around, never still, blinking in and out in complex patterns. Bilbo feels his breath leave him in a little sigh as he stands there watching, rooted to the spot. He sees Thorin tense then, but he doesn’t look around or tell him to leave, so Bilbo takes that as an invitation to step closer, until he’s side by side with Thorin. He can feel the dwarf’s warmth radiating off him in waves and it’s welcome even in the mild summer night. They stare out at the light show before them, neither able to tear their eyes away, until Bilbo remembers suddenly.

When Thorin had told him of his childhood, he’d spoken of the fireflies. He’d told him about his childhood in the mountain, of rarely venturing out into the world and the first time he’d seen stars, how he’d seen fireflies on hunting trips with his father and grandfather. That had all been before Thror had fallen ill - after that, Thorin rarely saw the world outside until the day Smaug had destroyed his home.

Bilbo feels his heart constrict a little at the memory - Thorin had seemed so sad, so vulnerable in those moments as he’d spoken, and had Bilbo been a little less nervous of him he’d have liked to reach out and comfort him. But he hadn’t, too unsure and afraid. But this time he does it without thinking - he reaches out and places a hand on the warmth of Thorin’s arm, simply resting there. Thorin seems to tense at the contact and Bilbo is ready to pull his hand away, but then Thorin relaxes and he tightens his grip just a little before letting his hand drop. Thorin turns then, tearing his eyes away from the fireflies lighting up the night to look at Bilbo, who meets his gaze. He’s only a little nervous of him now, and only because Thorin is still so distant - sometimes he’s as distant as the stars in the sky, just as aloof and cold. Except Bilbo knows that he’s not, and it gives him the courage not to look away.

There’s something unreadable in Thorin’s expression then, and to Bilbo’s surprise he sees a glint of moisture in Thorin’s eyes. He’s moved, that much Bilbo can tell, but whether by the fireflies or Bilbo’s simple touch to his arm, he doesn’t know. He looks back to the field of fireflies and they stand in silence again, each aware of the other and somehow perfectly comfortable.

“One day soon, you will see Erebor as she was meant to be,” Thorin says suddenly, quietly, his voice low and almost - intimate. The hairs on Bilbo’s skin stand on end at the sound of it and his stomach seems to do a cartwheel. “She is magnificent, Bilbo. I will show you the caves and the gem grottos, the little streams and hot springs-” he gives a sigh then. “I want you to see it all.”

Bilbo smiles then, a wide grin he can’t keep off his face. It gives him a little thrill to hear Thorin say his name like that, so easily, casually, and that Thorin wants him to see Erebor - he wants him to see his home. Perhaps Bilbo isn’t only the hired help anymore, the Burglar only there to do a job; perhaps he is finally one of the Company now. He can’t stop the little bubble of laughter that rises in him, loud in the night air, and still the fireflies dance and flicker on.

“Let’s focus on getting there first,” he says gently, though he’s smiling as he says it. They may have a way to go yet, but surely they’re allowed to be optimistic now?

Thorin turns to face him again and once more Bilbo cannot read his expression. The corners of his mouth are quirked upwards, and he simply looks at Bilbo. Bilbo feels exposed under that stare, but he doesn’t look away, and then eventually Thorin does so, a small chuckle ghosting out of him.

“You amaze me, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo doesn’t know quite what he means by that, but his stomach does a little somersault at the way Thorin says his name then, _Master Baggins,_ careful and almost _fond,_ nothing at all like the sharp reprimands of the beginning of their journey, or the curt politeness of a few short weeks ago. It feels comfortable, Thorin saying his name like that, and he’s sure that his ears have gone a fetching shade of pink because right now they’re burning.

Thorin turns again, back towards the house; he looks at Bilbo questioningly and without hesitation Bilbo turns too and together they make their way back towards the house, warm squares of candlelight calling them inside as Thorin adjusts his stride to Bilbo’s smaller one. They don’t say anything, but the silence between them is easy, even if Bilbo is still wondering what to make of Thorin’s last statement. Thorin gives him one last unreadable look as they enter the noise and warmth of the house, one of his hands resting on Bilbo’s shoulder just for a moment, before he moves away to talk with Balin.

Bilbo watches him go and lets out a sigh. He looks back out to the field, where he knows hundreds of tiny sparkling lights are dancing and shimmering in the night, and he feels hopeful.


End file.
